


Cloudburst

by omphalos



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-06
Updated: 2009-12-06
Packaged: 2017-10-04 05:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omphalos/pseuds/omphalos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wesley and Faith find each other in the rain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cloudburst

**Author's Note:**

> This is set roughly a year after Home (AtS) and Chosen (BtVS). It doesn't include the canon of AtS s5 since I wrote it before that aired.

_"Once there came a storm in the form of a girl.  
It blew to pieces my snug little world.  
Sometimes I swear I can still hear her howl,  
down through the wreckage and the ruins."_  
– Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

Wesley turns his car into the dead-end back street and stops the engine. It seems very dark as the headlights die, obscuring what looked like two sodden Bograth carcasses on the tarmac in front, and he's glad that he's armed to the gills tonight. His jacket won't be any real defence against the driving rain that pounds against the SUV's roof, but he pulls the heavy garment on nonetheless. At least the storm may ease the appalling humidity of the last few days.

He notes a certain excitement concerning the mission he's on and finds that interesting.

There's a crash of thunder as he leaves the car, and the lightning that accompanies it illuminates the very person he's in search of here. He hasn't seen her since... hmm, Angelus.

Faith's sitting in the corner of the dead-end, blood from an open gash on her forehead staining the rain red as it streams down her face. She looks up as Wesley approaches, and as he steps carefully around the dead demons, she snorts -- too softly for him to hear, but he sees and recognises the movement of her chest thanks to another staccato series of flashes brightening the night.

"How'd you know?" she asks, having to almost shout to be heard.

"Where to find you?" Wesley crouches close beside the Slayer and visually inspects her. She's dressed in a skimpy halter-neck top and denim shorts, which considering the heat in the city before the storm arrived, isn't an unreasonable outfit. It clearly didn't make good armour however. "The firm's psychic department sent me a memo. How badly are you hurt?"

"Been worse."

Wesley waits for another loud crash of thunder to fade before he asks, "And the reason why you're sitting in trash in the pouring rain?"

"No good reason to get up?"

That isn't encouraging. She's never exactly been emotionally stable, but she'd seemed so grown in strength the last time he saw her. It's disappointing to consider that she may be breaking down again. "What's wrong, Faith?"

She shrugs. "Nothing. Everything's fine, hunky dory, A-OK..."

"Five by five, even?" Wesley quirks a mildly amused eyebrow.

"Yeah, that." She smiles, and Wesley's glad to see it. Not that he believes that she's in any way fine.

"Are you sure?" he questions, letting his doubt be heard in his tone. His eyes are adjusting now, and the muted light from nearby windows is enough for him to see quite how many wounds she's sporting.

"Yeah. It's all shallow stuff." She grimaces and gets herself to her feet, so Wesley also stands and watches her push long strands of wet hair from her face. He tries not to notice how her nipples are outlined through her wet clothes as she tells him, "I needed a shower. Ain't got a working one in the fleabag joint I'm staying at."

That he hadn't been expecting. "You're living in LA? Why didn't you come to us?"

"Wasn't ready yet," she shrugs. "Had some shit to work through."

Wesley frowns. "Are you ready now?"

"That's kind of a moot point being as you're standing right by me, Wes." She seems to waver a little on her feet, and Wesley instinctively moves forward, grasping her arm, in case she's about to fall.

"I'm okay," she insists, but she leans against him for a few seconds anyway, before straightening up. "Just hungry."

Wesley makes no attempt to disguise his concern. "Have you any money at all?"

"Not so much." Another lightning flash and shockingly loud thunder make his decision as moot as his presence.

"You're coming home with me," he asserts, and she doesn't argue.

Once they're in the comparative quiet of the car, she says, "Maybe for a day or two. But none of that trying to get between my legs this time. Honestly, Wes. Chick's gotta rest sometimes y'know." She's joking, of course, as he never laid a finger on her in lust. But she sounds almost... wistful?

"I'll endeavour to restrain myself," he agrees with a slight smile.

***

The storm is still contentedly crashing away to itself later on, but warm and dry inside Wesley's apartment, the pair ignore it. Faith is sitting on the sofa, tucking into a feast of hastily ordered Thai food, the multitude of boxes covering Wesley's coffee table. He sits in the chair nearby, considering the best questions to ask.

"How long have you been in LA?"

"Month or two."

She's clean now, the worst of her wounds bandaged, and she's wearing just a long dress shirt of his, with the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of his boxers. He's trying not to think about how good she looks in them, or about how bare her legs are, or how he can see her breasts through the shirt material when she moves in certain ways.

When he last bandaged her wounds, he'd been too lost in a myriad badly repressed emotions to really pay attention to her body, but this time... Maintaining the correct distance is proving hard.

He supposes with hindsight that every interaction he's ever had with his Slayer held the sharp edge of sexuality, as that's simply the way she is and has always been. But this is the first time he's ever seriously considered Faith for the role of sexual partner, as opposed to a walk-on part in throwaway if disturbing masturbatory fantasies. It goes entirely against his Watcher training to consider her available, but that doesn't really matter anymore, does it?

"This shrimp stuff's wicked tasty, Wes."

"I'm glad. Where did you go after Sunnydale?"

"Travelled a bit. I thought, what with being an escaped convict and all, I oughta keep moving. Did the Bonnie and Clyde thing... only _without_ all the killing, before you get big with the freak out. Well, vamps and demons a plenty bit the big one, but you're not gonna have a problem with that."

He studies her carefully, remembers what he's been told, calculates, and then asks quietly, "Who was your Clyde?"

She shoots him an immediate angry look. "What makes you think I had one?"

"You were the one who referred to the criminal duo," he points out calmly.

She puts down the box of Yam Polamal and swallows, staring at the table. "He's dead. Really don't wanna talk about it, Wes. Ask about something else."

"I'm sorry, Faith," he says, and he means it.

"Yeah, well, not like you don't know how it feels."

Wesley doesn't ask what she means as he's certain she's referring to Lilah, although he himself has told her very little about his late lover, only what seemed relevant to the hunt for Angelus. They sit in silence again, Faith picking up a box of what looks like the Pla Thot to gorge on. She doesn't meet his eyes once. She's bent forward, her elbows on her thighs and her attention on the food.

Eventually, she asks, "You miss her?"

He rubs at his face. "It's... complicated. I've, um, seen her since. Her contract with the Senior Partners had a perpetuity clause." Now Faith looks up, her face blank with incomprehension. Wes explains. "She's dead, but she still has to work for them."

"Like a zombie?"

"More like a revenant. Her mind is still sound, and her body doesn't decay; she simply isn't alive."

"Wow. Um, so are you...?"

"No!" That came out more forcefully than he had intended. "She's dead, Faith."

"So's Angel," she grins, and he's not sure exactly what she means by that, but he answers anyway.

"Not undead, _dead_. She has a crusted line all around her neck where I beheaded her. I... I'd like to free her. I'm working on it." He's not sure why he's telling Faith these things, so he tries to turn the subject around. "Do you miss him?"

The remnants of her grin disappear, and she looks down again. "More than I thought I ever could."

Without really deciding to, he rises from his chair and sits down beside her on the sofa, placing a flat hand on her back. "Life has a way of surprising us with ourselves." He winces internally at the platitude.

"Hey, drop the tea and sympathy, Wes." She looks up with a ragged grin. "'Less you want a sobbing ex-psycho wetting your nice dry shirt."

"You shouldn't..." He stops himself. It would be hypocritical of him to condemn her for her low self-esteem. He changes tack. "Faith, you shouldn't be on your own. Wolfram and Hart would be happy to employ you in whatever capacity you'd prefer." His hand seems to still be on her back, so he rubs slightly between her shoulder blades.

She places the now empty takeaway box down on the table with her chopsticks and shuffles a little closer to him. He thinks she's going to say 'yes', but instead... "Don't get me wrong, Wes. I'm grateful and all. But, um, last time I worked for Wolfram and Hart it didn't exactly lead to fun times for one and all."

He remembers.

He takes his hand from her back and rubs his face, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. She shuffles on the sofa again. Is it coincidence that she seems further away now? He looks over at her.

"Faith," he starts carefully, wanting somehow to ease the burden of shared guilt and angst between them. "I would like to consider us... something approaching friends now. If that's something you also feel to be possible."

She glances at him, an uncertain expression unsettling her features. "After what I did?"

He laughs a little, hopefully not too bitterly. "If I held such things against people, I'd soon have no friends left."

"But what you said when-"

"I said what was necessary to prepare you for Angelus." She nods, apparently accepting that, so he adds, "The question, I believe, is not whether we can forgive those trespasses done against us, but whether we can forgive ourselves the trespasses we committed upon each other. At least sufficiently to be comfortable together."

"No real idea what you just said, Wes, but hey. I like being around you just fine. You've got this wicked edge of darkness thing going for you now; makes me feel not quite so much the mutant, y'know? You're fun people."

"Fun," he repeats then laughs, leaning back into the sofa again. "I think your idea of fun is very... idiosyncratic."

She grins. "Maybe, but you can't tell me you don't share it. If you were only in this game to do the Big Good, you'd have found yourself some safe desk-job for a charity."

She's always had a razor keen astuteness, he remembers. It was never a good idea to equate her lack of education with a lack of intelligence. "Yes, you're quite right," he admits. "I've realised for some time now that I've a bit of an adrenaline habit."

"There's just a tiny little-girl-step between danger sports and deathwish," she tells him, clearly talking about her own experiences. "You and me, Wes, we've seen the same things. I look in your eyes now, and I see me... Fuck, listen to the chick." She rolls her eyes at herself.

While Wesley has never, he considers, fallen quite so far as she did, he can't deny that he recognises what she's talking about. "Was it danger sports or deathwish that had you fighting Bograths on your own in that back alley tonight?"

"Been out hunting every night," she admits. "Might as well call it what it is. Looking for vamps and bad guy demons so I can get my Slayer rocks off."

"You shouldn't patrol -- hunt -- alone." He frowns. "Anything could happen."

"Been alone most my life, watcher. Well, apart from..." She trails off momentarily. "He came out with me. It was kinda cool while it lasted."

"What got him in the end?" Wesley asks quietly.

She laughs bitterly. "A blood clot. He was young and couldn't have been much fucking fitter. It shouldn't have happened."

His hand returns to her body, to her shoulder this time, and squeezes. She smiles raggedly at him in response and heaves a deep sigh, which presses her breasts up against her borrowed shirt. Wes has to look away, saying, "You should find a new patrol partner."

"You offering to take his place?" He glances back and sees her eyes widen as she realises what she's just said. She adds quickly, "As my patrol-buddy-slash-Watcher guy?"

He's tempted; he really is, but her legs are naked, and apparently, a far greater temptation. He has been abstinent for far too long. Even Lilah has said so. "I can't be your Watcher again."

She frowns, looking almost... hurt? "Why not? Not like I can find myself a different one. You guys are in short supply these days." She laughs then, but looks immediately contrite. "Sorry. Guess you knew a lot of them."

He doesn't have the slightest desire to talk about the Council; there are sufficient painful subjects already on the discussion table. "I know we've both changed a lot, but I don't think that even now I'd make a good Watcher for you."

She shrugs. "I thought we were smoking together on the big Angelus hunt. You thought otherwise?"

"No, I agree with you. We worked well together."

With both hands, she pushes her drying hair from her face. "So, why not?"

Something uncharacteristically flirtatious seems to take control of his mouth, which twists wryly and says, "Well, for one thing, I'm rather too attracted to you to maintain the correct Watcher-Slayer distance."

That silences her for a second or two, but then she grins. "Yeah?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so." He smiles back. Their eyes meet, and there's... something. A connection of sorts, perhaps.

Her brow raises. "Afraid?"

"Under different circumstances, I would have appreciated a chance to be your Watcher again."

She snorts. "I don't believe for one tiny second there ain't a long history of Watchers getting their naughty on with Slayers. Like, in the bad old days when a Slayer wasn't allowed friends or family, who else was gonna pop her cork for her after a hard night's dusting if not her Watcher?"

He can't help but chuckle at her terminology and concedes that she's probably right, but still. "It is -- was -- considered anathema."

"Still happened; I'd put money on it... well, if I had any I would. You do know how we get, huh? Slayers, I mean. We got ourselves drives."

"I know," he confirms. "We were given special lessons at the Academy about how to counter those drives." Like most of the Council theory on Slayers, it proved meaningless drivel in real world practice. Stretching, Wesley relaxes further on the couch, taking up a little more space and letting his leg touch hers. The flirtatious impulse is back, and he hears himself saying, "Prison must have been... frustrating."

She shrugs. "Plenty of willing chicks there to unfrustrate me." She laughs at him, and he realises his aroused reaction to this idea must show on his face. He gives her a twisted self-effacing grin, not really apologetic. She tells him, "Sorry to disappoint, Wes, but I didn't take up any offers." She holds up a hand and wriggles her fingers. "These got the job done."

He catches her hand and runs his own fingers along hers. "Lucky them."

Faith looks surprised but, he thinks, appreciative at his action. She rubs her thumb over his knuckles. "Anytime you wanna swap them with these long ones of yours is A-OK with me."

His cock twitches in his trousers, and he looks at her trying to decide whether he really wants what they're rapidly heading toward. Although really, it's too late to back out gracefully now, and she's wearing his shirt, his underwear, and it's really quite astounding just how erotic he's finding that fact.

Her dark gaze meets his, and then, seemingly without warning, they're kissing. He doesn't remember either of them moving. They were both just sitting and staring, but now they are apparently trying to eat each other's mouths from their faces.

She tastes of lime and chillies.

She clambers astride him, and he groans into the rapacious kiss, his hands moving down to cup her arse, feeling her muscles move under the thin cotton of the boxers while she grinds herself into him. He slides lower on the couch so that she's moving over his suddenly very urgent erection. It really has been far too long since he did this with anyone.

Both of them are breathing rather heavily when she breaks the kiss to pull the shirt over her head. He groans at the sight of her breasts, his hands moving of their own accord to cover them up again. They fill his palms and spread fingers delightfully. "You're beaut–" he starts, but she's kissing him again, so that's that for conversation.

Within the pocket of his jacket, hung near the door, his cell-phone starts to trill. Wesley moves one hand to the back of Faith's head to ensure that she doesn't try to move away. After a while, the noise stops, and he lets her pull his own shirt up and off.

Then the apartment phone starts to ring. "Machine," he grunts as he lifts her up enough to suck one tight dark nipple into his mouth and flick his tongue over it, making her moan softly.

He hears his recorded words instructing the caller to leave a message. Then Wesley's spirits plummet as Angel's voice fills the apartment. "Wes? You there? Gotta thing I need you to do. It's, um, kinda urgent. Wes? You gonna pick up?"

Faith seems to realise that this is a call he can't ignore; she slides off without being asked, although he catches a regretful glance directed toward the bulge in his trousers. Pushing himself up, he heads for the phone table. Wes turns off the machine and lifts the receiver, saying with ill grace, "What is it, Angel?"

"Did you find Faith?"

"Yes, she's with me now." And picking up her shirt again. He casts her a rueful look, and Faith shrugs, grinning slightly.

"Good. Tell her 'hi' from me. She okay?"

"She seems in relatively good health, yes." He tips his head to the side, trying to make the most of the disappearing flesh as the white poly-cotton drops down over her body.

"Good. Want you both to head down to that Koreatown sweatshop we found the other night. Guy there called Yi has got some information for us."

Wesley grimaces. "I take it there's some reason that the ops department can't handle this."

"Yeah. Has to be one of us, I think. I gotta get back to this dumb meeting. Faith okay to strong-arm for you?"

"I imagine she can be persuaded." Wes rubs the back of his neck as he watches the Slayer. She's doing callisthenics-style stretches while she waits.

"Good. Call me when you're back, huh?"

"Yes, Angel," he agrees. "Do try not to annoy the Senior Partner's representative too much this time, won't you?"

Angel grunts and hangs up, so Wes puts the receiver down. "Angel says 'hi'," he informs Faith dryly. "And asks if you would care to be the muscle for me on a short mission."

"Sure thing, boss." She grins and walks over to him.

"I'm not your boss," he points out, unable to resist drawing her to him again. Her fingers play over his bare chest.

"Could be. If you wanted to be." She moves against him, gyrating slowly, and Wes softly groans.

"Much though I don't want you to further cover up this delightfully squirming body, you need some more appropriate clothing. I suggest we call by your hotel room on the way and pick up your things."

"All three of them," she laughs. "Am I likely to need weapons?" And wickedly, her fingers move down, playing lightly over the front of his trousers. She chuckles as his cock twitches in response.

He gently pushes her away. "Weapons more useful in a fight can be found in that chest. Help yourself to something relatively discreet." He turns around while he puts his shirt back on and tries to calm down.

At least the rain seems to have stopped.

***

Faith hacks and slashes the hench-demons while Wesley has a pleasant little chat with Mr Yi. So eager is Mr Yi to reveal what he knows, now that Faith has removed his animate body armour from play, that Wes doesn't have to do anything much more than nod occasionally to maintain the flow. And so Wesley makes the most of being able to watch his Slayer's form.

'His Slayer' -- that really is a very unwise way to think of her, all things considered. He's touched her breasts and had his tongue halfway down her throat, and he intends to do considerably more very soon, providing she remains willing. These are not the thoughts of a Watcher.

A Watcher wouldn't be noticing the way her skimpy shorts ride up when she stretches, or the straps of her black bra when they slip from under her wifebeater. A Watcher wouldn't be seeing his Slayer do high kicks and imagining what it would be like to be caught between such strong thighs.

After Lilah, who opened so many new and shadowed rooms for him sexually, Wesley had realised that his tastes were irrevocably changed. Or perhaps he's always had these peccadilloes, but is only now aware of them. One thing is for certain, never again will the wholesome and pure interest him very much.

And Faith's neither of those things. Faith is the veritable opposite of bland and good for you. And the way she moves when chopping up demons is like a dance – an erotic dance of musculature, blood and violence that arouses Wes on a very deep level. And even as he's aware that the avid attention he's currently paying Faith makes a perverted mockery of his training, Wesley is imagining what it would feel like to have some of that energy and passion released upon him.

He hasn't forgotten what she did to him; he never will. But so much has happened since the torture that it now seems almost like some sort of twisted foreplay for the encounter they are, he feels certain, just beginning.

He wants her.

This is far from a casual lust and isn't even purely about sex. She was right when she said they'd made a good team whilst hunting Angelus. It had been exciting -- despite the grief, fear, and anxiety he'd been fighting with at the time -- to work alongside her. Rogue Slayer and ex-Watcher, they had made a darkly well-matched pair.

When he'd received the memo from the psychic department earlier, he had been immediately and undeniably excited at the thought of seeing Faith again. He's been wondering for over a year what happened to the Slayer after the destruction of Sunnydale. He discovered that she'd got out safely, and that she'd left in the company of an unusual man called Wood, but Wesley hadn't managed to uncover where the pair had gone, despite misusing Wolfram and Hart resources to try to find out.

But now he knows.

Demons disposed of, Faith dusts herself down and heads over. Mr Li has started repeating himself, so desperate is he to appear willing to talk. Wesley shakes the man until he shuts up. "All rattage nicely ratted?" Faith asks.

"Yes," Wesley says impatiently, finding he has no understanding of exactly why Angel considers this matter 'urgent'. "Let's go home." His gaze meets hers, and she slowly grins.

"Feeling... hungry?" she asks, her eyes glinting with something a little feral.

"Positively ravenous," he replies, pushing Mr Li to one side and stalking towards her. "I'd very much like to complete the meal that was so rudely interrupted earlier."

She very deliberately licks her grinning lips. "I could go another plateful and then some." She turns and heads for the door.

He catches her outside, spinning her around and pushing her against the side of his car, which is again parked down a dead-end side street.

He manages to capture her lips for a few seconds before she whips him around and makes him the one trapped against the metal. He doesn't care; her strength, her animal passion, it turns him on.

It makes the violence inside him safe; he can't hurt her.

He supposes the night air must be cool, but the humidity remains high, and Wesley is heated with sexual need. Faith grinds herself into him as their mouths rip at each other, and he has one hand on the back of her neck, the other on her arse, his fingers slipping under one of the high-cut legs of her shorts.

"Fuck, Wes," she curses, as their lips part finally. "Just fuck."

"Give me half a chance, and I'll oblige."

It takes him by surprise when she suddenly hoists herself up onto him, so that her legs wrap around his hips, and her heavy boots dig into his arse. But he reacts quickly and takes much of her weight with his hands linked under her bottom. Mouths locked tightly again, he starts to walk with her, carrying her round to the front of the car where he sits her on the bonnet.

She breaks the kiss and leans back, drawing him down over her. "Here and now, Watcher boy. Here and fucking now."

He's not arguing. Rather, he's between her thighs and trying to thrust through far too much material against her. It's not so much that all common sense has left him, more that the awareness of the outrageousness and danger inherent in what he's doing makes it all the more necessary to do it. Pushing her shirt and bra up, he squeezes one of the exposed breasts, bending to suck the nipple into his mouth, taking up where he'd left off earlier. He bites, and she bucks under him. which is when he feels the first raindrop hit the back of his neck.

It's the only warning he gets before the heavens open, and within seconds, they are both drenched by torrential rain again. Faith laughs loudly, her chest vibrating with it, and threads her fingers within Wesley's hair as if to try to stop him moving from her. As he had no intention of doing so, the action's redundant, but he enjoys the knowledge that she could force him into any position she fancied.

Lighting strobe-staggers the night, the crash of thunder simultaneous. The storm is directly over head, and really, they should take cover. But Wes is high on lust and adrenaline and going nowhere except to his knees as he slides down Faith's rain-slicked body.

He unbuttons her shorts and pulls them down, dragging one open leg over her boot, but not bothering with the other, so the garment remains looped around her ankle. Lifting her legs to his shoulders, he presses his mouth to the gusset of her skimpy panties while the water pours down his face and the back of his neck.

He hears her swear above him, and her legs wrap around him, her boots digging painfully into his shoulder blades. He carefully peels the wet cloth to one side to reveal her sex in all its dark-haired glory. Rain streams down from her arching belly, creating rivulets on either side of her mound, and Wesley pushes the tip of his tongue against her clit, provoking a answering jolt from the Slayer.

Oh dear lord, he wants this woman.

His fingers, starkly illuminated during another multi-pronged lightning assault, part the clipped hair and divide her folds. His lips close over her sex, and he kisses it hard, like he would her mouth, his tongue scooping and investigating.

Above him, Faith slides about on the slippery bonnet, writhing from his kisses, and Wesley exalts in the power he has over her, the way he's making her squirm and wail. He waits for the next barrage of thunder to sound and uses it as stage direction, thrusting two fingers hard inside her. She thrusts up into his face, making him smirk against her flesh. Then he starts to fuck her hard with his fingers, his tongue flicking her clit firmly.

It doesn't take long before she's bucking and squeezing and yelling his name into the storm as part of a long string of obscenities.

Despite the drenching rain, despite his aching knees on the hard tarmac, Wesley feels as if he could do this for half the night, bringing her to climax after climax before allowing himself his own release, but Faith has different ideas.

"Up, up and away, Wes. Get those lips up here."

He feels her fingers in his hair again, pulling, forcing him back to his feet. He almost slips in the puddle -- more like a small pond -- that has appeared around this end of the SUV. Wesley allows Faith to tug and position him into standing over her wanton, near-naked body. He permits her to undo his trousers and slip her soaking hand inside. Her grip feels cold as she draws him out, and the air feels cooler still when she releases him immediately.

He doesn't get a chance to feel deprived.

Faith's strong legs wrap around his waist, pulling him snugly against her, and inevitably, considering the deluge that covers them, he slips inside. There's so much water around that it is her internal heat that he feels more than any sense of friction. At least, until she starts squeezing with her powerful pelvic floor muscles. Oh dear God.

Mouth open, jaw tensed, gaze adhered to her face and breath coming in pants, Wes moves inside his Slayer. He grips her hips tightly and forces his way through the tightened muscles again and again. He can feel his clothing clinging heavily to his skin, and he's vaguely amazed that the water isn't steaming away from him. "Faith. Oh good God, Faith."

Lightning paints a starkly erotic picture. Faith, her back arched, her arms stretched to find purchase on the car's bonnet, her hair spread out and plastered to the metal, and the swell of her breasts and the curve of her flanks outlined with a reflected sheen. He's never seen anything more beautiful or more provocative; he's never seen anything he wants more.

And he has her, at least for this moment. And currently, that's all that matters.

Pleasure slicks and coats him as if it were the cascading rain itself. His entire groin is tight and throbbing, and he's deep in that no man's land that comes before orgasm, where the intellect shuts down, and the body seems to drive itself.

Faith moves a hand down her belly and slips a finger btween her labia, rubbing over her swollen nub. During another prolonged spell of chain lightning, Wes looks down and sees her finger working frantically, sees his own highlighted cock slipping in and out of the encasing lips, and suddenly he's yelling, almost screaming, into the cacophonous thunder as he comes.

Comes so hard he can't breathe again until it's over.

He collapses on top of Faith, heaving for air as the last of her own spasms fade.

As they shakily separate and stand up, glancing almost sheepishly at each other while they restore their sodden clothing, the storm seems to decrease in intensity, almost as if it were only here in the first place to provide them with a soundtrack. Faith laughs and pushes her hair from her face with obviously trembling fingers.

"So, Wes, you sure you don't wanna be my Watcher again?"

He wants to be her lover.

***

As they drive away, heading for warmth and dry clothes and a future that's uncertain, but temporarily at least, mutual, a piece of yellow paper floats unnoticed in a puddle having fallen from a pocket. The mostly hand-written message blurs as the ink runs.

> _ To: Wesley Wyndam-Pryce  
> From: Forecasting and Analysis Dept  
> Date: June 30th 2004  
> Subject: That search you've had us running..._
> 
> _Wes, honeycakes, tonight's your night._
> 
> _See this pretty map Jacinth drew for you? Well 'F' marks the spot. It's time to be what you were always meant to be for each other._
> 
> _And don't let anyone or anything rain on your parade._
> 
> _ Lorne.  
> Department head._

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Faithficathon back in 2003. Many thanks to Wesleysgirl for the beta


End file.
